July 2, 2017

Room of Her Own

Need My Own Fucking Space

Knowing now I need my own fucking space, she thought.

The anger was finally able to come to the surface. Pushed there by a husband who was trying to divorce her by Police Reports.

"Don't ever get married" my mother said. She took valium like candy, beat me when she was enraged, had a thing for chasing men and then discarding them when she was bored.




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Darkness

In darkness u will find the light ::

May 19, 2017

Another Arrest


She tries to remember a time she didn't awaken at 3 am wondering if the door would be knocked down and she would be handcuffed—taken to the policestation. Another round of questions, taunts and accusations of things she hasn't done.

What is it about waking at that time that sends her whole body into sweats—later, the chills that make her want the warmth of covers. So long ago she never would have thought any of this possible. Why has it become her reality now. A long, dark nightmare that doesn't seem to let her awaken. She sleeps in increments now. Small portions of time she can relax and be calm—other times restless, pacing. Still trying to piece things together, like a puzzle that still needs completion, but pieces became missing—ones left on the table don't seem to fit.

Jail is like that. Long streches of time punctuated by short, restless periods waiting. Panic rising if you can leave or if you will be forced to stay another day. Some days go easy in the slow movement of time and other days are awful—time drags, a demonic will of its own. Taunting you, harassing you slowly you understand freedom is gone and you must urrender to the rhythms imposed upon you.

Being in a marriage that was so controlling was in many ways like jail. The constant quard like measuring up that had to be done. Each day having to meet some arbitrary approval from some unseen force that watched your every move. When did you become use to living that way. The slow decent of anothers will until you don't remember your own. The questions that are implied demands rather than exchanges of information. They call it coercive control—steady erosion of your liberty.

The slow stalking of your soul. The quiet vice grip that strips you of your automony until it feels like a walking death. Because it happens over time and by someone you trust and love its hard to quite see it from the outside. Only after being out and away from the web of control, can you finally see how severly you were controlled.

Some things are like that. Takes time to view them from the summit. My marriage was like that. I adored my husband in the beginning. Restless nights, now spent wondering how he could have played this deadly game for so long, pretending his love and yet so much more in love with his own ability to control everying in my life.

Why was I the one being arrested while he was able to do whatever he wanted. Why was so much in my life destroyed while he continued to control so much of it. The questions kept piling up as the time in jail. "You've been here before," the quard said. I cringed wondering when I become a person that was known at jail. Not really, I mumbled. It had become routine though. The stalking, the violence, the inflicted wounds on the inside, the arrests that made me the villian and him the victim. He was always so good at these games. He would laugh and tell me how people just didn't get it. He knew them in ways they didn't even know themselves.

Each day I was getting stronger. Being inside and outside became somewhat the same—spiritual madness. The bars on jail, mimicking the same invisible bars that surrounded me in life on the outside. They say you learn to do time. Zen—you learn no time. Time can morph into something else if you let it be. An hour can be a week, a day can last forever. Seeing physical bars on my room grounded me in a reality that mimicked how I was living. It had become so similiar. In the same way, the ongoing control was mirroring a violence that I felt whenever I was arrested, handcuffed and taken to jail. Somehow I had to survive it all, pieces of my life coming back to life—sometimes in a very violent way. Jail would seem a fitting place to see that sort of close-up.

Night becomes day and day becomes night. We were often awake at 3 am, he worked second shift for years. I learned newly married that dark and light could be exchanged. Reversed and flipped in different directions. In the same way finding my freedom again by having it physically taken away.
The invisible web of control far more obvious by the real bars on my window. The noxious smells, the restricted routine, the loss of movement—the language of physicality.

How precious my freedom was becoming once again. I had been made to forget. Over time slowly stolen. Now the stark realization of that loss was poignant. The spiritual madness was taking shape into something that I could see. A broken bird released from the cage ready to fly once again.

She turns to the window, sunlight streams through. Is it the end of the day or just the beginning.



April 4, 2017

Time To Say Goodbye

It was time to say goodbye. The sun had just about set, it was getting dark and people were leaving. 
As old friends often do, there were casual embraces, hugs, and those friendly air kisses. 

We had not seen each other in awhile, old friends of my husband that never really became mine, but over the years tried often to get along with them, have them like me. He was handsome in a mischievous way. Flirting with me throughout the entire day. It was the end of the Summer. A party to welcome Fall, say goodbye to the beach, the barbecue and friends you would not see through the Winter. His approach at times was intense, making me blush. He would look at me with such aroused seduction, I felt pulled to him in ways I never felt before. Of course I chalked it up to our ages. He was the son of my husbands childhood best friends and I was in my late 40's. We had never met before, even though there were often parties and get togethers over the years. His parents had never really approved of me marrying their best friend. It was only later after the sexualassault, was I to learn how much they really disliked me. 

My marriage was on the rocks, but I loved my husband and thought seeing his old friends would help. We were seeing more of them again as most of their children were getting married. There were also funerals, as is often the case at middle age. We started to get more invitations to parties again. At first I was hestitant, but figured at this age, maybe they had mellowed. I sure had. We had just moved and we had buried my husband's mother. We had taken care of her and it was a difficult time. A party might be just what we needed. Everyone seemed anxious to get together again. At first thinking my husband would just go fishing with his old buddies. 

"Go have a little," my husband said. I could smell the weed drifting between the pines and feeling festive about his good mood—thinking a little weed would be fun. It had been so long since I had any drugs. Since college, I laughed to myself as I took a hit from the joint that was passed to me. Feeling relaxed and happy as I went back to the beautiful fireworks on display. Aptly named "Ring of Fire," a Sacandaga NY Lake tradition. 

I approached the deck as things were winding down. My husband was already waiting saying his goodbyes. Standing next to him was his best friends son, sensing the sexual pull between us, but feeling somewhat shy, I just wanted to say goodnight and not embrace. I also felt maybe I was being silly. It was the excitement of the goodtime, the slight ethereal way the weed made me feel, the high of feeling pretty after so long. 

We stood face to face as my heart started to race. There was no way to avoid a full frontal hug. I turned slightly, but it was too late. He moved in and his arms went around my waist. Slowly, buy very firmly he pulled me into him, lifting me up as if I were butter. I was never one to be picked up, self conscious about my height at 5'10" and often my weight. Before I could say anything, his arms sensuously were moving down my back as a hard vortex of energy was moving up my spine. Shock started to envelope me as I realized that it was so true. It felt just like a snake pushing pulsating up my back, as we seemed to be locked in a rhythm of ectasy and movement. I had done Yoga for years and had read about Kundalini energy, but thought it just a philosophical idea and not really real. 

My thoughts were trying to catch up with my body before I realized as I was coming down from being lifted so high, an organsm like I had never had before was moving in a circular way up my spine. Pulsating thought my body as these two bands of energy made their way up and out of my head one after another. As he brought me down, I was so close to his ear, my body went limp as I wanted to kiss his ear, in fact so compelled I froze. I would always kiss my husband and nuzzle his ear after an organsm. In dread and shocked panic—this was not my husband. 

What seemed like an eternity, he dangled my legs and they seemed to come to life as he set my heels on the patio deck and I stumbled forward into the screen door where his parents were."Great party," I heard myself saying. My husband and I saying our goodbyes to his parents. As we got in our SUV, his father appeared in the door with a stricken look. Only after many months was I to learn why. By then knowing I had been sexuallyassaulted. Before it happened, I never really knew what one was.

On an interview some months later. I was struggling with the questions wondering why I was having difficulty, I usually interviewed very well. I thought maybe my age. I was at the age where I was interviewing with bosses who were now younger. I chided myself and laughed as I thought I got along well with young adults. The last position I held, one of my favorite co-workers was in her early 30's and just as I was thinking these thoughts, it all came flooding back to me. 

His blue eyes, the warmth of meeting him. Feeling like I had known him forever. The recognition of sensing his presence at one of his parents parties when I was first married, but never meeting him. Then the shock of realizing I had sex with a man on the deck of a party I attended. Confusion, shame and shock enveloped me as I struggled to come to terms with what had happened. The painful screams at my husband to try and understand how he could be there and do nothing. What was he in fact doing as I was being held in this man's arms who was a police officer. I had never even heard of being assaulted in a sexual way by friends—no less our friends son!

It would take me months of recovery to deal with the layers of deception, abuse and trauma that ensued. My marriage and life torn to shreds as I was accused of being mentally ill and delusional. Numerous arrests followed before I could even piece it all together. Not only the trauma of the assault, but the fact his man was a police officer. The confusion and shock coming in layers. This is their son. I have known these people for years and yet he was this man who violated me at a party right out in the open in front of my husband. 

I now know it was a sexualassault. There was no consent, no awareness on my part there was even a possibility something like this could happen. I had my clothes on for god sakes and yet I would be physically suffering for 2 years trying to recover. Panic attacks became a frequent as did the shock that made every day tasks difficult. I read everything I could to understand what was happening to me after the physical symptoms eased. 

The fallout from my husband, family members and previous friends was and still is a nightmare. The attacks and retaliation from the police and this man were violent and ongoing. I am still struggling to survive, but I am making progress each day. In the midst of this my husband became increasingly abusive. I had been struggling with his domestic abuse for years and now it intensified. On top of it was the ongoing economic abuse. He would later have me arrested from our marital home for supposedly "whoring around," but as I recovered it became more and more apparent the sexualviolence was setup to keep all of our assets in his favor. By the end of our marriage we had become quite successful, but instead of me being able to celebrate, my entire life and 20 years of hard work was unraveling in a nightmarish way.

note: uploaded on my #mobile—why #fonts were lost in transferring. Sorry :)